The lightest tension runs through him—though not, precisely, directed at Kylo. Matters of choice forever remain a complicated topic with Geralt. He's been shaped, a long time ago, into what he's never asked to be, and Geralt has coped by simply taking it for what it is. A fact, without any meaning attached. Sometimes small boys are dumped on a mountainside by their mothers, for no reason of worldly significance. That's all there is to it. If some Destiny exists to push things along—and perhaps, he's beginning to believe it may—then it's no more or less chaotic of a force than it's been from the start.

And whether Kylo intends it in this sense or not, he's always instinctively recoiled from the slightest implication he should be meant for more, or desire it. It's that belief which left him in the hands of mages who took him apart too many times as a child.

For awhile, Geralt is silent in that way he occasionally gets: unhurried, uninterested in filling it, while he absorbs what's being said. Which, to him, is good enough. He has no reason to clarify what it is he does want. If Kylo finds no problem here, then Geralt hasn't got a problem with him in return. For now, at least.

"And what choices have led you to smoulder about in the grass?" If it sounds flippant, it's meant to be—but there's room for a genuine answer, too.